you'll fall asleep and i'll put a spell on you
by the sad life of alex garcia
Summary: the Pythagorean concept of a spherical Earth offers a simple surface which is mathematically easy to deal with. nezumi/shion.


**title:** you'll fall asleep and i'll put a spell on you.  
**summary:** the Pythagorean concept of a spherical Earth offers a simple surface which is mathematically easy to deal with.  
**claim:** nezumi/shion.  
**rating/warnings:** pg-15. sex. weird hurt/comfort-ness.  
**playlist (or, songs i stole titles/summary from):** strange and beautiful (i'll put a spell on you) - aqualung.  
**writer!notes:**weird, messy thing that i had totally forgotten about :|. my first no. 6 fic, actually. may be interpreted in lots of ways.

.

.

**you'll fall asleep and i'll put a spell on you.**

Shion used to think that Nezumi was just taking a walk around the earth, real slow. Sooner or later he'd reach No. 6, from the exact opposite side from which he left.

.  
i.  
"Shion, it's been years," Inukashi says, voice harsh, but eyes a little soft on the edges.

(inukashi means it) "He isn't coming back."

Shion smiles and tucks a strand of pale hair behind his ear, like one would smile at someone who has gone completely insane; a smile to humour a small child who knows nothing about the world. "Oh, Inukashi."

Inukashi frowns, mouth open to reply, but little Shion is pulling at Inukashi's shirt for attention and whatever words that were to be uttered are forgotten.

(the earth is just so big and nezumi so small.)  
.

.  
He does not live with his mum anymore; he's grown older, more responsible. Better.

Nezumi'd be proud to know it's been almost a year since the last time he burned dinner, that he always makes sure to sleep at least six hours a day, eat three full meals. The Reconstruction Committee keeps his mind busy and his fridge full, and as he stops at his door to shake some of the rain off his umbrella, shudders when a few stray drops manage to sneak their way below his coat and run down his back, he fishes out his keys and steps into the welcoming womb of his home that, as much as it greets him with warmth and safeness, will never feel as much as home as one tiny mouse nest in the west block used to feel.

(it's been three years, eleven months, six days, twohoursandcounting.)

But Shion does not minds being all smiles and sunshine and waiting, cherry cakes that scare time away because Nezumi is on his way.

Because Nezumi is coming back, because there is no other choice, no other option, there is no other possible outcome but Nezumi's return. Shion knows this, he is conscious of this; he accepts it as a fact. Nezumi promised and Nezumi is not the kind of boy— the kind of man to break his promises, and how can Shion doubt him if he can still feel him on his lips, can still feel him in his fists, in his ribs, on his tongue, in his bones, in the hollows of his eyelids; shaking through his skull, through his spine and down through his hips.

Before he realizes it's been four years already Nezumi will be here and they will be spending summer together in a field of sunflowers.

Nezumi is not one to break his promises.

.  
ii.  
Nezumi comes back.

It is a spring night and the rain is pouring outside his mum's bakery; the air is still not warm enough yet. Nezumi's skin is soaked wet and his lips have gone blue cold and his hair sticks to his worryingly pale face. Paradoxically, he looks smaller, creases around his eyes have gone softer; the ice in his eyes has melted.

Shion smiles, eyes going warm and a little tired. He feels so light his feet may not be actually touching the ground.

Nezumi says, voice small, "I don't need anything else."

(_but you_, goes unsaid but shion hears it; crystal clear in the weak shiver in nezumi's breath, in the quiver of his lips and the shudder under his skin and it is beautiful, so very, very beautiful.)

Shion replies, "I know."

(nezumi's lips and cheeks and heart warm up as he gives a step in and confirms this statement)

and,

.

(nezumi's hands are on his skin, on his face, down his chest, over his ribs; he has his body pressed against the bed sheets, kisses burning fire inside shion's mouth and going down, down, down—)

Some things are actually better without words.

.

.

"Shionshion_shion_—" His frantic gasps of Shion's name are cut short by Shion coming inside of him, making him feel pretty, so fucking pretty—

(is that normal? should he feel like this? is this— is he hopeless?)

Shion removes his hands from Nezumi's ribs but his handprints stay there, etched into his skin. Shion is pulsating with nerves, with ambiguity and liveliness and Nezumi grabs Shion's jaw and kisses him, roughly until he is gasping for a breath, and tells him to stay right there, don't move everever_ever_again.

"Okay," Shion agrees, pale, endless legs moving to straddle Nezumi and head resting on the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

(and he is oh so hopless, isn't he)

.

.  
nezumiishoplesslyinlovebut—

"You're so pretty."

Pretty is not usually a word used to describe a boy, but it's what Shion's mind offers him. Pretty. Beautiful. Extraordinary.

Nezumi's face remains expressionless, but his eyes soften just a bit. It's enough for Shion to catch it, see it, save it in his heart. When Nezumi touches his hands, they're cold.

"You're just so _pretty_."

(it does not matters because shionistoo.)

.

.

iii.  
It's raining and they're fighting and Shion's face is red.

"Shut up!"

Heavy breathing –why, oh why– Shion averts his gaze to the floor (what were they even fighting about, again?) and Nezumi hisses, "I need a smoke." _i don't like it when you smoke_, "I need a fucking smoke."

And Nezumi goes outside and lights up a cigarette with some difficulty because the wind keeps blowing rainwater into his face and Shion stares out the window wishing he'll give up, but Nezumi finally manages to light it and he pushes it in between his lips.

Shion goes outside—

"Shion, what the fuck—"

—pulls the cigarette out of Nezumi's mouth with determination he didn't know he had and throws it to the floor, quickly stepping on it to kill kill kill the flame.

They stare at it together in the rain.

.  
Nezumi rubs his face against the pillow, raises his eyebrow until it's hidden by his hair. His eyes are tired and his lips sore and red and they look like they could be hurting but Shion can't bring himself to not wanting to bite them just one more time. Shion thinks he looks funny, doesn't say so because he knows he looks funnier, what with his lips bruised red too and his neck peppered in teeth marks and bruises on his hips, on his thighs, white hair and red scar and—

"Hey," Nezumi mutters, lazily biting Shion's shoulder, "Stop thinking so much."

He smiles, licks his lips, then Shion's. Repetition. Shion's heart explodes and rises to his throat.

Repetition.

_Repetition_.

Repetition.

.

.

iv.  
_he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not_.

He loves me.

"That's cute," Nezumi says with his arm slung over Shion's shoulder while he picks the petals off a wildflower. Shion leans his head on Nezumi's shoulder. He smells like apples and cinnamon and burning firewood and home.

He always smells like home.

(he loves me not)

"Nezumi," He says anyway, "I think I'm in love you," he whispers into his ear, and Shion's breath is warm, it tickles, soothes—  
he loves me he loves me he loves me he loves me.

.

.

(and after the sun sets and everyone goes home and the lights are off there is nothing left except half-remembered little floating dreams of starry nights and warm arms and and the scent of home unmistakably in the air of the night)

.

.

The Pythagorean concept of a spherical Earth offers a simple surface which is mathematically easy to deal with. It is logical, isn't it?

Shion used to think that Nezumi was just taking a walk around the earth, real slow.

.

.

_r&r_


End file.
